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Good Morning Baltimore

When I was in the eighth grade, my family took a trip to Baltimore which I was, honestly, not looking forward to. It was one of those vacations disguised as a learning experience which, when you’re a kid, is the only thing more disappointing than watching a cartoon and realizing that there is a thinly-veiled religious message and that the talking zucchini may, in fact, be Jesus. My parents selected Baltimore as our destination because it is a city rich in American history, literature, and homicide. Actually, the latter was less a selling point and more an excuse to make me wear one of those child leashes in the rare case that there was an unhinged individual in our Fort McHenry tour group who would’ve flown into a rage at the sight of my crimped hair and pleated Duckhead shorts.

The early highlight of the trip was when the waiter at one restaurant gave me a theatrical wink and handed me a brochure for the aquarium. He’d written his name and phone number in black Sharpie on the shell of a sea turtle, undaunted by the fact that I was thirteen and on a leash. (Note to self: Start wearing leash again). On the last day, perhaps tired of stepping over chalk outlines or trying to delicately explain why I couldn’t have an “I Got Crabs in Maryland” t-shirt, my dad suggested that we go to an Orioles game.

I was totally unprepared for the hotness roaming the outfield that year, the hotness that was Brady Anderson. Those sideburns. Those biceps. The lack of tuberculosis (which made him infinitely more attractive than my previous Baltimore crush–Edgar Allen Poe–who admittedly should’ve been less desirable since he potentially had rabies. Oh, and was dead). Anyway, that day I fell hard for Brady, a man so hot he made my braces sweat. After the game, I immediately bought a #9 t-shirt and couldn’t wait to write “Dr. & Mrs. Brady Anderson” on my Trapper Keeper, because I was sure that he would attend classes at night and eventually become the best-hitting neurosurgeon in his practice group.

My parents told me I could also have a Cal Ripken “Iron Man” poster, perhaps because they thought 32-year-old Cal was more appropriate to grace my walls than 42-year-old Huey Lewis. But I was more interested in the one of Brady, a beefcake picture shot in that grainy black & white style rarely seen outside of Spencer Gifts. He was shirtless, glistening and, ah, bulging in a way that made me tingle more than when the bus driver turned on the floor heaters. I wanted that poster. I needed it. But I knew that there was no way that my parents would let me have it…they were people who had already banned Guns N’ Roses, Eddie Murphy movies, and the parts of “The Golden Girls” when Blanche was talking.

Standing in line, I knew I either had to make a move or learn to love Cal Ripken. I told my dad that the poster I was holding looked like it was bent so I stretched my leash to reach the other side of the store and, in a rare moment of teen daring, swapped Cal for Brady. When we got home, I feigned ignorance—even disappointment—that I would have to stare at Dr. Anderson’s bat and balls.

Deception and treachery…who said Baltimore wouldn’t be a learning experience?

On to the rest of the Orioles…

No discussion of Baltimore hotness is complete without former pitcher and Jockey model Jim Palmer. If you stare at his crotch long enough, you’ll see a dolphin.

Also in the Hotness Hall of Fame is former shortstop Cal Ripken. Insert your own Iron Man joke here.

The current crop of Hot Birds is led by 2B Brian Roberts. He’s talented, cute, and pocket sized. I love a man who can shop for clothing at Build-A-Bear.

Next is pitcher Eric Bedard. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one because all the pictures of him are mid-pitch and it’s impossible to throw a baseball that hard and look like anything other than Fire Marshall Bill.

Rookie RF Nick Markakis is unbelievable. And hopefully not turned off by the fact that I would seriously stab someone in the lung to get his number.

Catcher J. R. House

I know. Some of you may question my selection of 1B Kevin Millar, but I can’t help it. Something about the frosted hair, the quite-possibly capped teeth, and the unwillingness to give up on the Oakley M-Frame does it for me. Also, he earns Lifetime Hotness status for being a member of the 2004 Red Sox and, when I had the opportunity to speak to him after Game 3 of the Series, didn’t call for security when I was gripping his arm spouting nonsense like “Ohmygodyou’rekevinmillar! Cowboyup! YoujusttookashowerItakeshowerstoo! whereareyougoingdoyoulikesoupyou’remyfavoritekevinbyekevinbyeeeee!”

It’s interesting that on his Orioles player page, CF Corey Patterson’s first two career highlights are that he is single and graduated from high school. I noticed the hotness of C-Pat a couple of seasons ago when he played for the Cubs. He was beautiful. Except when he was batting.

I feel about OF Jay Payton the way men feel about Sarah Jessica Parker. Sometimes they look deliciously attractive, other times they look heinous. It’s like I’m turned on but I also just threw up a little.

As for the infamous Brady Anderson poster, to my surprise my parents let me put it on my wall. The one caveat was that I had to take him down when my grandmother came to visit, either because she would think it was inappropriate or because that picture was so steamy it would’ve melted the Worther’s Originals right out of her pocket.

34 thoughts on “Good Morning Baltimore”

This whole thing cracked me up — oh, boy, did I ever have the hots for Brady for years and years and, well, years. If I had a dollar for all the impure thoughts…

I was possibly the only baseball fan at my women’s college, but early in either the 1992 or 1993 season, when Brady was still there and there was additional mad hotness happening on the O’s squad, the Angels happened to be having a Steamy Man Year, as well. I pointed this out to all my housemates, who joined me on the couch for the O’s-Angels series, which was such a confluence of hot men in baseball pants that the whole house practically combusted.

I can’t say I fully converted any of the other chicas to full-time baseball fandom, but I can say they had a whole new appreciation for the sport and its, um, extra-special qualities after that series…

And TSW, I very sincerely told my parents that I’m sure that Huey Lewis meant Tylenol or Bayer when I sang “I Want a New Drug”. I also used to sing the lyrics of “Piano Man” as “There’s an old man sitting next to me/In love with his tonic and gin”. Otherwise, the ‘rents would’ve confiscated those tapes with the quickness. And I’m pretty sure “Captain Jack” got Billy Joel relegated to the no-no pile anyway.

MMFC, I almost added an aside noting that yes, I’m sure I have the number somewhere. His name was Scott and I didn’t call him because 1) I was sharing a hotel room with my parents, my sister, and my stuffed dinosaur and 2) because at 13 what could I offer him? I already had to share the Gameboy with my sister and even then it seems like I never got to play. I chose Tetris over you, Scott. And I’m sorry.

First of all, love this article. The part about cartoons with thinly veiled religious messages being disappointing is so right on. Second, I’ve always had kind of a thing for Kevin Millar. I never told anyone about it, but reading your article tells me I’m not alone. Thank you for that.

Tears in my eyes, and I may have peed on my office chair… and the others in my workspace may think I’m insane. My tiny midwestern town lost its AAA team, and I did not get to spend the summer screaming inappropriate innuendo (as opposed to the very appropriate kind I usually scream) at sunburned farmboys with bats. Fortunately, this post almost made up for all that. If only it came with a hot dog and a beer.

J-Money, explain why you are so funny. EXPLAIN YOURSELF!! (Also, isn’t it strange that the most Jesus-like of the VeggieTales is also the most phallic? I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’.)

Hot Librarian, I’m working on convincing my one roommate that if the other one ever moves out, we should give the spare room to a guy in A-ball. The Wilmington News Journal always has tons of ads in January and February about putting up a Blue Rocks player in your house. I could say I lived with the future Johnny Damon or Carlos Beltran!

Brady is beautiful. Brian and Markakis are, too- and I get the Millar lurve as well (check out this hilarious video where Papelbon interviews Millar for FSN [third one down]- I think Millar might be funnier than Papelbon).

Ahhh, Brady too was my first love. I still have my bat & balls poster =) Funny story, I had it rolled up among some Euro (metric sized) prints that needed custo-framing – he was safe between the Vaduz Castle and the Matterhorn (I wanted him to stay neutral and yes, okay – I didn’t want my hubby to find him). We recently moved, my husband wanted to surprise me and take the posters to get framed, imagine his surprise and embarrassment to find bulging Brady in the Swiss Alps. We had a laugh, and no worries, Brady is safe and sound – in my closet with the rest of my silly skeletons.

They are all hot, but Cal has got one big, round butt on him. I have a several of his growth chart posters, and there’s one with he and Billy are standing back to back, and his ass is ALL you see. Every time he walked out to the field his butt was a major (and good!) distraction.

OMG! YOU ARE TOO FUNNY! MY MOM LUV’D CAL SO MY BRADY POSTER WAS ALLOWED. NOW I’M ALL ABOUT B-ROB AND MARKAKIS… I’D JUST LOVE NICK TO COME OVER AND DO YARD WORK W/ HIS SHIRT OFF! I MET THEM BOTH AND THEY AUTO’D MY LEFT LEG AND MY TAT GUY MADE THEM PERMANENT. BRIAN WAS AMAZING AND SWEET, NICK WASN’T SO MUCH, BUT HE’S STILL REALLY NICE TO LOOK

Ok so I still have that Brady poster hanging on my old bedroom wall in my parents house haha I was sooo in love, first baseball crush other than Cal Ripken!

But I almost peed my pants when I read you’d stab someone in the lungs to get Nick’s number bc seriously, he is a lil young for me, but girl I would do some stabbin too! He is seriously the hottest thing in baseball!

This story totally made me laugh! I’m Irish and was on vacation in Washington DC at some stage (can’t remember the year) but we too went out to a ballgame in Baltimore (DC didnt have a team back then i think) and we saw Brady Anderson and thought he was hot (better with the cap on too for some odd reason). I bought that poster and oogled over it for a long time after – was one of my fond memories of the trip too and the poster was probably x-rated by Irish standards (catholic ireland and all that, no nudity… no naked me.. thank god for Brady Anderson!!). Here I am now years later living in Washington DC and its still a humorous fond memory for me and keeps the Orioles always in my heart!! Great story – conjures up images of my own teenage years!!

I just stumbled on this whilst looking for a picture of the hotness that is Brady Anderson to attempt to convince a male friend of mine that when I was riding out the raging hormones of high school, Brady was the hottest thing on the planet. This post made me laugh so hard because I was you (minus the leash and the conviction that in his life after baseball, he was going to get his MD). In fact, despite it being the murder capital, I ended up going to college in Baltimore — for the academics, not the hot, hot number 9 — and when the O’s unceremoniously released Anderson in the spring of my junior year, some friends actually came over with a case of beer because they “heard the news and thought I would need it.” Thank you for brightening my day!